Marigold scrambles back on the bed, keeping as far away from the glasseln as possible. Pika eyes Marigold’s perch, deciding it looks more comfortable than the tight fit below, and leaps up.
Marigold screeches and jumps down. Pika circles, but she must crouch low to fit, and her wings still catch on the trim. Finally, she lies down, stretches out, and breaks into a loud and inappropriate purr. Danver, thrilled to have his friend with him, joins her, snuggling against her furry chest.
Marigold turns from the glasseln to glare at me. Her expression is murderous, but then she sees the arrow sticking out of the side of my leg.
“Anwen!” she exclaims. “You’ve been shot!”
I sit on the bench, trying not to bleed on Rosie’s things. “I have to get back out there,” I say, realizing I must break up the fight.
Marigold cocks her head to the side, listening. “I think they’ve stopped.”
Sure enough, seconds later, Galinor throws the door open. Disbelief shadows his features when he spies the lounging glasseln. He quickly dismisses her and rushes to my side.
He kneels, examining the wound. After several seconds, he exhales loudly and rests his head in his hands.“It’s not as bad as I feared.”
“It still hurts,” I snap.
He looks up, his expression angry. “You’re the one who jumped in front of the arrow!”
“They were going to kill Pika.”
“Better her than you!”
We stare at each other, neither of us relenting.
I give in first. “It happened so fast. I just didn’t want her to get hurt. I wasn’t exactly thinking of sacrificing myself.”
His blue eyes narrow. “You didn’t think at all.”
I’m about to say something testy, but Irving rushes in. His eyes widen when he, too, sees the glasseln on the bed.
“We need to leave,” he says, still eyeing the cat. “The castle steward just paid us a visit. His and Her Majesty want us gonenow.”
“Now?” Marigold exclaims. “It’s the middle of the night, and Anwen’s injured.”
Irving clears his throat. “Apparently if we’re still here by the next bell, they’ll hang us for the disruption.”
Slim chance of that. They wouldn’t hang four princes and two ladies—they’d have a war on their hands with no less than three kingdoms. But Rosie lingers by the door, looking pale and worried.
They would hang her.
“Tie our horses to the cart,” Galinor tells Irving as he studies the arrow sticking out of my leg. “I’ll have to take care of this on the way.”
“I can ride one of them,” Rosie volunteers.
They agree, and soon the caravan cart is jostling out of Lenrook’s castle gates. Each bump makes the pain all that much worse.
It’s just Galinor and I inside the cart now, with Pika and Danver watching us intently.
I grit my teeth, wondering what’s taking Galinor so long. “Can’t you just pull out the arrow?”
“No.” The prince’s voice lacks emotion, and that worries me. “Brace yourself—this will probably hurt.”
He snaps the shaft in two, and I yelp, surprised by the intensity of the pain.
Galinor cringes, avoiding my eyes. “Sorry.”
A short finger-length piece of the shaft protrudes from my ruined skirt. It’s a shame—I was beginning to like this skirt, too.
